A War and then Another One
by LuckyLink7
Summary: King Galbatorix has fallen. Lady Nasuada, leader of the Varden, is the successor to the throne. She waits for Murtagh, who promised to return...but how long can one wait? And how long can love last?
1. Chapter 1

Nasuada had waited. She had waited longer than was acceptable and much longer than she would have been willing. But at last, she decided that she could not and would not wait any longer. She was the Queen of the humans of Alagaësia and she had duties far more important and demanding of her attention than listlessly gazing out the balcony…and waiting. Two years had passed hazily – spending nights on end devising assault plans on rebelling lands, holding endless conferences of things now past her memory, more or less rebuilding a world torn by the late King Galbatorix…and waiting.

Nasuada had pride, and she could not wait. She remembered the words Murtagh had said before he flew away on his brilliant red dragon, and the words echoed in her brain still.

_I will return once my anger has weakened. Will you wait?_

Nasuada had opened her mouth to reply, but he had already gone. And she did not know what she would have said.

So she would marry King Orrin of Surda and continue living.

* * *

The boy was freckle-faced, still too young to carry much more than a playful spar as victory, but old enough to enter and leave his village as he pleased.

He panted as he ran past numerous hills until at last he reached the cave. It was a large cave, but it was well hidden as various vegetation and spells helped conceal it. The boy only knew of its existence because he had been approached.

The first thing he saw as he neared the cave was a tail, long, slender and glowing an impossibly iridescent scarlet. The tail continued up to reveal the red dragon's body, growing at a more natural pace now as Galbatorix's spells had died, but still leaving the creature enormous. Leaning against his scaly side sat a man, his once long brown hair cut short to better show a handsome face. His most striking feature was his eyes. They were a steely grey that held much grief still, and long lashes decorated them.

"News," said Murtagh. His voice was rough, caused from the harsh conditions he and Thorn had faced and the lack of need he had of it, especially around Thorn.

The boy placed his hands on his knees as he gathered his breath, his pale face flushed.

"Not much news of late, sire," he managed to say at last. His voice carried awe as he stared at Murtagh, his eyes trained mostly on Thorn. Vain as they were, the dragon reared his head slightly to better show his flashing scales. The boy stumbled back slightly, mouth slightly agape. Although this was his fourth visit, he had yet to grow accustomed to the sight. "Only…only it has been announced that Queen Nasuada will wed King Orrin at the next full moon," he said dreamily, breathless as he followed the movements of Thorn. Murtagh's face darkened frighteningly and he got to his feet abruptly.

"What?"

The boy was slow to respond and Murtagh grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "What did you say? Nasu – the Queen –"

"Sire –" said the boy, eyes wide with fear. "Sire, you're hurting me!"

Murtgah released the boy, causing him to crumple on the mossy floor. Murtagh paced back and forth in the cave, his breath crystallising in front of his face as he felt anger course through him. He was not sure who the anger was directed at – the boy, perhaps, for delivering the news; King Orrin, for taking Nasuada as his own; Nasuada, for not waiting; himself, for delaying for so long. His mind was full and he could not think properly – he could only distantly hear himself telling the boy to leave. The scatter of hasty footsteps sounded like echoes, and he knew vaguely that the boy would not be returning.

He sat heavily on the ground, burying his face in his hands. Memories of the imprisoned Nasuada in Urû'baen being tortured – tortured at the hands of himself…the soft conversations they had had, wary lest Galbatorix find out…the feeling of her under his arms as he embraced her…

He stood up once more and looked at Thorn, who gazed steadily back at him with an unblinking red eye. No words, either verbal or mental, had to be crossed. They understood each other enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Nasuada admired the long, silken gown as her lady-in-waiting held it up for her. It was truly as best as the best could possibly dream. Crisp pleats folded over the red material, the bodice decorated with gold trimmings crossing over each other at the breast. Expensive lace ran all the way round the neck and the long sleeves dipped almost to the floor. Bound at the upper arms by slim gold bands, the rest of the material fell gracefully around the dress in a way that no other clothing could.

Nasuada, who was already undressed, held her arms out on either side of her, a clear indication to Farla to clothe her.

As the old woman obliged, thoughts chased each other in the Queen's mind. How would she look in the dress? Beautiful, of course, one could be anything but in such a dress. Would the people find it too revealing? She was their Queen, they had no power or right to shun her and so she was free to do as she wished. Would Orrin approve? She did not care. What would Murtagh make of it?

Nasuada sucked in a breath, pursing her lips slightly as she tried to cast her mind elsewhere. Dwelling on things that could not be was a waste of time and would be treated as such. As Queen of Alagaësia, she had to be responsible for more than her physical actions – her mental decisions were just as important, and dangerous.

"Is it too tight, Your Highness?" Farla said, squeezing the words out from around worn teeth with difficulty.

Nasuada shook her head. "No. Is it done?"

"Just –" Farla pulled on a sleek scarlet ribbon behind Nasuada, wrapping it into a bow. "It is done, Your Highness."

Nasuada stepped forwards, almost afraid to look at her reflection. This was who she would become in a few days' time…a bride.

Of King Orrin.

Nasuada tried to remove the intervening thoughts of a red Rider, the colour of her dress, as she gazed into the full-length mirror situated to the side of the room. And she was right – she looked beautiful. Beautiful…and sad.

She shook her head. She could not dwell in the past and in hopes much longer. He was not returning, and she was foolish to have ever believed it. He had left to seek his fortune, to see the world, perhaps roaming already with an exquisite elf woman to spend near eternity with.

Her calmness and rationality returning, Nasuada stared into the mirror, into her reflection, the picturesque wedding dress flowing about her body like a waterfall.

"It is indeed as beautiful as you said, Farla."

The doors leading into the hall suddenly burst open and _Jörmundur strode in – Nasuada whirled around, the dress floating about her legs. Jörmundur was accompanied by two other guards._

"Pardon us, Your Majesty," he said with a fleeting glance at her attire. "There is a threat in the castle, and so we must escort you to safety. That is a most elegant dress, also. This way."

Nasuada did not question her right-hand man but allowed the three men to lead her down through a hidden trapdoor leading to an escape tunnel. As the top of her head disappeared down the hole, she thought she heard someone familiar call her name. But then the trapdoor swung shut and all sound above ceased.

* * *

Murtagh cursed as he was seized by two guards, not bothering to lower his voice. The doors had been so tantalisingly close, and yet fate had eluded him.

Again.

"I am a friend," he repeated, his teeth grinding together as his eyes bore into the oaken wood. "Enquire of her yourselves." Something far more painful than anything he had ever endured clawed at him as he thought of the young woman, possibly only a few mere metres away from where he was.

The guards did not answer but continued to march him away. Murtagh allowed himself to be taken away, if not rather reluctantly, but peaceful in the knowledge that Nasuada would find the note he had managed to get under the door.

* * *

Nasuada was only grudgingly released by Jörmundur after two hours, insisting that as Queen she could not afford to stand around and waste time.

"Post five more guard outside my door if it pleases you," she said. "But you will not keep me from my duties."

"But the intruder is very powerful, Your Highness," one of the guards grunted. His face was partially covered by a visor, but Nasuada knew that it was the head guard Garven.

"Tell me who this intruder was," Nasuada said, sitting down at her desk. She was still in her wedding dress, but she would not change until the matter had been settled…and the men were out of the room.

The guards exchanged glances before Jörmundur stepped forwards.

"It was the red Rider, Murtagh Morzansson."

The blood in Nasuada's veins seemed to have turned to ice.

"Murtagh?" she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Why – how…why did you consider him a threat, Jörmundur? Had he not proved himself to be a hero, allowing Eragon to defeat Galbatorix by wounding him?" Against her will, anger began rising within her. Murtagh had been here…here….

Jörmundur passed a hand over his face, his expression grim.

"Your Majesty, Nasuada," he said. "I cannot allow you to place yourself in danger in any way. He may have had an ulterior motive – as he was enslaved by Galbatorix, it is with no doubt that he wished to best him –"

"Enough," Nasuada said, and her voice was cold. "Has he not proven himself? Must he be looked at with suspicion for the rest of his life? You are dismissed."

Jörmundur opened his mouth, then closed it and walked to the door, motioning to the other two guards. As he held the door open, he looked back.

"Your Majesty…we only wish for the best for you." The door shut with a soft thud, and all was quiet.

Nasuada fingered the lace at her collarbone.

Yes, I know, she thought. But you do not know what is best for me. It certainly isn't Orrin, but that can't be helped.

That was when her eyes fell on the small, leathery-looking note on the thick carpet. It sat at the entrance to the room, and she strode over to it. Picking it up, she looked at it cautiously before unfolding it.

_Nasuada__, it said. __If you would care to journey to the highest balcony in the castle at sunset. _

_ - Murtagh._

Nasuada felt her skin prickle, and she looked over her shoulder out the window. She thought she saw a flash of brightest red against the descending sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**All right! So, first of all, I want to apologise for, you know, abandoning this story. I've still got to reread Inheritance to get back into the mood of writing this fanfiction, because at the moment I'm like "huh what Inheritance fanfiction did you say something", and I sort of forgot basically everything about the series (Google is my friend). But I'm totally uploading this anyway. **

**P.S. Murtagh was away for four years, not two. I think I said two somewhere in the previous chapters.**

* * *

Garven wore an expression of great disapproval, his lips curled in displeasure as he stood with the Nighthawks. Studying Nasuada, who was standing at the window and watching the sun sink in the horizon, he decided to speak. As the captain of the Nighthawks, he felt it his duty and responsibility to ensure that the Queen be under the utmost security.

"Your Majesty," he said. "I know you have tired of being told this, but it is not the finest idea to –"

Nasuada turned around, her dress flaring slightly at her ankles. She was wearing one of her favourite dresses, a comfortable garment made out of lightweight silk, a deep blue that flowed down her body.

"Garven," she said, and her voice was steady. "You are my guard, not my mentor. I will do as I wish. On that note, I do not wish to be killed, captured or anything else that bodes ill for my wellbeing, so you do not have to worry about me so much."

Garven fell silent, and the rest were content in their decisions to not have objected.

Nasuada, self-assured in the tense silence that followed, crossed the room to the door. The intimidating Kull Khagra opened it with one enormous hand, and the Queen strode through. The Nighthawks followed her closely, two of each race for maximum security: men, dwarves and Urgals. Nasuada ought to have felt safe, but she merely felt suffocated.

_I wonder_, she thought, _if I would have been happier if I ran off with Murtagh_.

This wasn't the first time such a treacherous thought had crossed her mind. In the depths of her misery, when she was beginning to succumb to the immense pressure of rebuilding the ruined Alagaësia and thinking of the rider, when her personal guards had become more wary at every turn, she had found her mind escaping to a world where it was simply her and Murtagh. What, she wondered, would that have been like?

But she could never live with herself if she ever betrayed her land in such a terrible way.

As she ascended the winding stone steps to the highest balcony in the castle, her brisk steps began to falter. She was nearing the top now, but she was starting to have doubts. At first, they had been mere irritation, pricking at the surface of her heart, but now they cut at her like a knife. _Was_ it the right thing to do, to endanger herself in such a way? Did she truly know Murtagh? And how could she trust him after he had deserted her for four years?

"Is everything all right, Your Majesty?" Fletcher Hardensson walked beside her, holding a sword.

Nasuada waved a dismissive hand, picking up her pace. "Yes, everything is fine."

The staircase became increasingly more winded, rounding the corners tightly as the group neared the top of the North tower, the highest tower in the castle. It became narrow to the point where three Nighthawks had to go ahead of the Queen as two guards could no longer flank her sides. The nauseous feeling of claustrophobia coursed like a wave through her body once more, and she shuddered inwardly.

At last, they reached the top. Nasuada went to the stone balcony, overlooking a magnificent sight. The whole of Alagaësia was sprawled out beneath her feet, a mass of mountains and villages, valleys and people.

It was twilight, that strange time after sunset, the clouds dark and the sky almost indigo. Nasuada tasted disappointment as she leaned over the parapet, seeing not a flash of scarlet, or the grey eyes of the man who had asked her to meet him here.

Suddenly, a breeze picked up to her left. She turned her head quickly, and could not stifle a gasp as a red dragon rose from behind the castle. Although the only light came from the moon, the crimson scales shone iridescently on the magnificent beast as it hovered at eye level, its enormous muzzle barely two metres from her face.

"Thorn," she breathed. She heard, as if from a distance, the Nighthawks muttering to each other and coming to her side, Garven speaking to her. She did not take any of it in.

Nasuada extended a hand, and was vaguely surprised to find it was shaking. She laid it on Thorn's muzzle, and he hummed deep in his throat. The dragon changed his position so that his side was to her, and her breath caught in her throat as she came face-to-face with Murtagh.

He had cut his hair; that was the first thing she noticed. A strand curled slightly at his ear, his hair tousled by the wind, his grey eyes still with the same intensity as four years previously when he asked her to wait for him. Sitting astride the opulent dragon, he could have looked almost regal, if it hadn't been for his torn, dirty clothes and the way he carried himself; so unruly, so loathing of the world.

Murtagh stared at Nasuada, as though drinking the sight of her in, and Nasuada found she couldn't tear her eyes away either. They remained like that, fixed to each other, until Garven – unable to get her attention by speaking – tapped Nasuada on the shoulder. Slowly, in almost a dream-like state, she turned her head to look at him.

"What is it?" she said. Her voice sounded strange in the silence, almost unnatural.

"You are dangerously close to the dragon, Your Majesty. Perhaps –"

Nasuada cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Garven," she murmured, turning her eyes back to Murtagh, "Please be quiet."

She took a step towards Murtagh, who stiffened visibly.

"What do you want, Murtagh?" she asked, and her voice was firm. _And yet my emotions are in turmoil_, she thought. _When did I become so adept at deceiving people?_

Murtagh's eyes flicked to the Nighthawks. "I would rather we speak privately," he said. His voice was husky, hoarse after four years of isolation and speaking with his mind. Nasuada saw something move in his eyes: Anger? Betrayal? Love?

Nasuada looked back at her guards, who were glaring none too kindly at the rider.

"Your Majesty," said Garven. "I must object. If we must, we will withhold you with force. You cannot endanger yourself like this."

Murtagh's eyes darkened. "You will do no such thing," he said. He looked at Nasuada. "Will you come with me?"

There was something unnerving about him; he seemed strangely detached, and the way he looked at Nasuada was as if he was watching things through glazed glass. It was as if he had been dreaming all his life, and was only now beginning to wake.

Nasuada deliberated. She had thought she trusted Murtagh, but…it was her duty as Queen of Alagaësia to ensure that she didn't take any risks that threatened her life. That was selfishness.

But…she had not seen Murtagh in so long. She wanted to touch him again, be in his embrace. Although, looking at him now, he seemed inclined to indulge in neither.

"I will be back," she said at last. Garven's face darkened.

"Your Majesty –"

But she had already taken Murtagh's rough hand and was being pulled onto Thorn. She sat in front of the rider, holding Thorn's spikes. The Nighthawk looked on in horror.

"Your – Your Majesty!" exclaimed Garven, rushing to the parapet. Thorn rose, flapping his huge wings once, so that he was suspended a metre over their heads.

"I am sorry, Garven," said Nasuada. "And I am sorry to the rest of you. But you can trust Murtagh."

She knew these were empty words as they flew away from the castle. 'You can trust Murtagh'? This wasn't a question of trust – this was a question of safety, and life or death. As Queen, naturally she had enemies.

Presently, Nasuada became aware of Murtagh's arms around her, steadying her atop the dragon. She shivered, wondering if she was dreaming. She had dreamed of this for many nights, after all.

Soon, they reached a small hill not too far away from the castle. Murtagh leapt off and helped her down, and they sat side-by-side on the grass.

Murtagh turned his eyes on her, Nasuada unable to meet them for once. They seemed to burn into her skull.

"Nasuada," he said. "Or, I suppose I should say…Queen Nasuada." He gave a soft, derisive snort. Nasuada's lips thinned, and she narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Why did you come here, Murtagh?" she said, veiling her emotions with rigidity. Murtagh snorted again, turning his gaze to the darkening sky.

"Oh yes, you must have forgotten," he said, and his voice was scornful. "Perhaps my words are so easily disposable, you forget them immediately? _I will return once my anger has weakened. Will you wait?_ Do you remember me asking you that? Or, perhaps what I have to say is of so little importance you simply disregarded them. I hear you are to marry King Orrin, you see."

Fury rose in Nasuada's throat, like bile. "Yes, I remember that?" she said, and her voice was low. She met his eyes steadily. "I know them from heart, because I told that to myself every day. Ever since you said that, four years ago. How could you make a woman wait for four years?"

Murtagh flinched as though he had been slapped. "I had to. You have no idea –"

"Oh, yes, I have an idea," said Nasuada. "I have an idea that you are extraordinarily selfish. You ask me to wait, and so I wait, for four years. And instead of pining after you like a dog, I decide to do what is best for me and Alagaësia and marry King Orrin. I suppose you are to say that I am in the wrong at every turn?"

Murtagh froze. "Nasuada –"

"I missed you, ridiculously, like a lovesick girl," continued Nasuada, ignoring him. "I was such a –"

"Listen to me," said Murtagh, and his forcefulness made Nasuada stop. "Do not marry Orrin." When he failed to elaborate, Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "_Don't_," he said, almost pleadingly.

"And why does this matter to you?" she said coolly.

Murtagh looked as though he had something stuck in his throat, something he wanted to say that wouldn't come out. He swallowed, looking away. "Because I – he isn't right for you, Nasuada."

"Murtagh," said Nasuada. "I am deeply regretful, but also resentful, because I waited faithfully for four lonely years. I am now ready to move on, and I cannot afford to risk the loss of my bloodline. I must pass on my heritage."

The rider was silent, his silhouette still and sharp. At last, he got to his feet, his chainmail clinking softly beneath his tunic.

"I warned you," he said, and his voice shook with anger and – misery? "Don't. I am also deeply regretful that I didn't come to you sooner, but I just…wasn't ready. I wasn't, Nasuada. I should have come sooner, but I didn't. I will live with that regret all my life, if only …" he trailed off. "If only you will think again about your decision. I'm here now."

Although it hurt her to say what she must, Nasuada closed her eyes and did so. "I have made up my mind," she said, and she tried to stop the tears from leaking, knowing she was turning away her first true love. "I will marry Orrin."

She heard Murtagh curse loudly, turning on his heel and walking away from her. A gust of wind blew at her as Thorn took off, lurching back into the sky. Nasuada kept her eyes closed, but the tears trickled out.


End file.
